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The damn woman was a smart, somewhat delusional, shy but cocky female writer with no family but for a couple of odd friends whose past company had given her plenty of reasons to hate cops. Until him. All she wished for was a regular job like ordinary people had so she could turn the reality of everyday life into fiction.
And soon she would look for a regular job; her writing was much better when she didn’t slave at it full-time. Working on Christopher’s team had been too real, though; the story she was currently working on, a female serial female epic, was both a testimony and outlet to it.
The Big guy was a tough, no-nonsense, independent forty-ish chief homicide detective, more bent on getting results than following the law. He had money to spare and nothing to lose. Until her. He did things his way, and did them thoroughly, including her.
Working homicide in the South District was no picnic, but Chris had a great team. Except for the quartet. The fucking quartet. Four incompetents Central has somehow dumped on him. With years on the force, he hadn’t made friends with everyone, and someone at Central was making him pay times four. The old, the conceited, the she-pervert and the green. He was getting too old for the job.
The two liked each other. Sparks flew. It could be just your casual love affair, but they had made a deal. She stopped claiming their relationship was only casual; he stopped asking her to move in with him. What about a fake marriage and sharing a house then? The extremes the damn woman went to just to help a friend were for once in his favor. Too bad he was too busy clearing the murder charges hanging over his head to enjoy her thoroughly.

“What’s in it for me, DesForges, sweetie?”
That girl was a bitch. “What the fuck are you talking about, Babydoll?”
“You heard me. You all heard me. What’s in it for me? If I get Hamilton out and about, what are you all going to give me in exchange?”
He was stunned. Reid wasn’t. “I don’t care about Ham all that much, girlfriend. Quieter when he’s not around. I offer nothing.”
Patricia started to laugh. “Reid, ma chérie, you don’t have anything to offer. Anyone else?” He knew she wasn’t asking for money. Or sex. Couldn’t be, she was a woman for Christ’s sake
LeRoy, tacitly the interim guy when Chris was out, no matter what the fuck Central had decided, took charge. “What is it you want, Babe?”
“You know what I want.” Teasing laugh. Foxy lady. Des didn’t have a clue what she wanted. The way her brain worked, the woman was a surprise box to him. From the look of the others, they didn’t know either. “Christopher’s whereabouts.”
“What the fuck, Babe?”
She looked at each in turn, her laugh turning sarcastic. “You don’t know?! Damn it, none of you know!”

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